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recognised from the start that my love for Sheila (which had begun that summer) would hag-ride me for years of my life. Yet that night he envied me. George was a sensual man, often struggling against his senses; Jack an amorous one, revelling in the whole atmosphere of love. In their different ways, they both that night wanted what they had not tasted. Saddened by pleasure, they thought longingly of love.
    I said to Jack: ‘I think that Roy would have understood what we’ve been saying. It would have been beyond us at fifteen.’
    ‘I suppose he would,’ said Jack doubtfully.
    ‘He’s been in love,’ I said.
    ‘I still find it a bit hard to credit that,’ said Jack.
    ‘No one would believe me,’ I said, ‘if I told them that you were a very humble creature, would they?’
    At the mention of Roy’s name, George had become preoccupied; his eyes, heavy-lidded after the evening, looked over the now empty room; but that abstracted gaze saw nothing, it was turned into himself. Jack and I talked on; George sat silently by; until he said suddenly, unexpectedly, as though he was in the middle of a conversation: ‘I accept some of the criticisms that were made before we started out.’
    I found myself seized by excitement. I knew from his tone that he was going to bring out a surprise.
    ‘I scored a point or two,’ George said to Jack. ‘But I haven’t done much for you.’
    ‘Of course you have,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, let’s postpone it. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
    ‘There’s no point in postponing it,’ said George. ‘I haven’t done much for you, as Lewis said before ever Morcom did. And it’s got to be attended to. Mind you, I don’t accept completely the pessimistic account of the situation. But we ought to be prepared to face it.’
    Clearly, rationally, half-angrily, George explained to Jack (as Jack knew, as Morcom and I had already said, though not so precisely) how the committee’s decision gave him no future. ‘That being so,’ said George, ‘I suppose you ought to leave Calvert’s wretched place.’
    ‘I’ve got to live,’ said Jack.
    ‘Is it possible to go to another printer’s?’
    ‘I could get an identical job, George. With identical absence of future.’
    ‘Well, I can’t have any more of this fatalistic nonsense,’ said George, irascibly, and yet with a disarming kindness. ‘What would you do – if we could provide you with a free choice?’
    ‘I could do several things, George. But they’re all ruled out. They all depend on having some money – now.’
    ‘Do you agree?’ George asked me. ‘I expect you know Jack’s position better than I do. Do you agree?’
    I had to, though I could foresee what was coming. If Jack’s fortunes were to be changed immediately, he must have a loan. My little legacy had given me a chance: each pound at our age was worth ten to a man whose life was fixed. Jack was young enough to get into a profession – or ‘to have a shot at that business we heard about the other day,’ as he said himself.
    ‘Yes,’ said George. ‘So in fact with a little money now, you’re confident that you could laugh at Calvert and his friends?’
    ‘With luck, I should make a job of it,’ said Jack. ‘But–’
    ‘Then the money will have to be produced. I shall want you to let me contribute.’ George’s manner became, to stop Jack speaking, bleak and businesslike. ‘Mind you, I shall want a certain number of guarantees. I shall want to be certain that I’m making a good investment. And also I ought to warn you straightaway that I may not be able to raise much money myself.’ He went on very fast. ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t put my financial position on the table. It’s all a matter of pure business. And I’ve never been able to understand how people manage to be proud about their finances. Anyway, even people who are proud about their finances couldn’t be if they had mine. I collect exactly £285 per year. (Such incomes, because of